The Scion of the Hunter: Tribulations of the Mad
by CrossyCross
Summary: A man that houses what which is forbidden is put down for the madness it caused him. An act of a high power spares him death, and sends him out of the universe. But, the trip shatters his mind beyond recovery, and he lands in a world unknown. Pokegirl fic
1. Chapter 1

**The Scion of the Hunter: Tribulations of the Mad**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Pokegirls. There, now will you lawyers PLEASE stop stalking me?**

**Yes. I have made a new fanfic. Yes, I am one big asshole. And YES, it is a PokeGIRL fic, but this is my life, and if I want an outlet for all my pent-up perversion, then by Joe Macky, I'll get one.**

**Besides, do you honestly want me to go ballistic when I go make relationships for Naruto in Virtue of Knowledge? Now that is just asking for trouble...**

**On a side note, the protagonist (that doesn't necessarily mean he's gonna be an agent of good) of this story is a madman, so yeah, things just took a turn for the insane.**

**Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"State your name soldier."

The man stepped up to him. He saluted. "Lieutenant Roy Derring, reporting, sir!"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Impressive mission Lieutenant, just as always. How many have done again?"

"One hundred and forty-three sir."

"Heh. That's a lot. In fact, I'm proud to say you've outdone yourself." The man stood, grinning toothily. "Consider yourself a captain."

"What?"

"It's a promotion boy! Now go get drunk with your team like you youngsters always do when you get a promotion. Shoo!" The grizzled general all but pushed the newly-minted captain out of the room.

Roy managed an awkward salute, before the door was slammed in his face. He blinked.

He was a captain.

He grinned.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What do you need of me sir?"

The general's usual boisterous smile was subdued, and it was enough to worry the captain. "Boy, you've always said to me that your dream is to make a mark on the world. To be unforgettable like the great men of old: Alexander, Leonidas, Parmenion. I told you that the best way to do that these days is to join the military and rise in the ranks as the best." He sighed. "I've found something better."

Roy's eyes widened, and he smiled. "Really sir? How?"

"You know The Night's Hunter boy?"

The captain shuddered. He did.

"We've acquired a blood sample of him, and the higher-ups have decided to make a project devoted to recreating greatest killer the world has ever seen. You're the last of your family boy. No one will miss you if you die, and that's one of the requirements. Don't panic boy! They're looking for volunteers, and I stress this: volunteers. They NEED to be volunteers. It's a paranoia thing." He leaned heavily on his chair. "You can decline boy, and there won't be any consequences. If you accept, there's a big chance you'll die, but I had to offer this to you, because I promised I'll tell you about other methods. Well boy?"

Roy gritted his teeth. "I risk my life everytime I go on a mission. How is this any different? Sign me up sir."

The general nodded gravely.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A thousand volunteers. A thousand hopefuls who hoped to make themselves matter.

Two-hundred and thirty-three survived the aftermath of the operation.

Of that number, over half of them committed suicide after they "saw the grand truth" from the "great one" that had spoken to them.

The so-called 'great one' had come for him.

"Do you wish to see the truth?"

"No."

A chuckle. "Why? Don't they say that the truth will set you free?"

He glared at the entity. "Sometimes. Only...sometimes. I believe that this one...will just make me want to kill myself."

The being grinned. "Very well. It is your choice after all. However, prepare yourself for pain fleshbag. As close as my children are to your species, they are as far from yours as any can possibly be, and only the best will emerge a tempered sword." 

It left him, and as promised, pain erupted like a volcano.

It lasted for months, and finally, of the less than a hundred left that had declined the offer of 'truth', almost all had turned out to be failures. While some functions improved, others had been shot to hell. And a big part of them had gone insane from the pain. Practically, they were worthless.

Roy was the only one who wasn't, and he wondered if he was the unlucky one.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Muscle strength, organ efficiency, bone density, brainpower. Everything about him is superior to ordinary humans." The scientist told the general.

The old man glared at him. "He's also changing. Did you look at him? The boy had a tan anyone would kill for, and now he has skin like a corpse's. And those damn eyes. It's like the devil is corrupting the poor boy." His voice was gruff, but with an undertone of pity.

"He's also getting memories."

"Well fuck. I'm guessing it's from the bastard isn't it?"

"In one of his more lucid moments, he told me about it. And yes, they fit the legends. In fact, he doesn't get any other memories besides those behind the stories."

The general's grip threatened to break the wooden chair. "Double fuck."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Wait up Roy."

The ex-captain stopped, and slowly he turned towards the general. He spoke, and his voice chilled the man. "That isn't my name. Not any more. Now, I'm just Mortis."

The general frowned. "Death? The idiots up high couldn't think of anything original couldn't they? Nonetheless, none of that EMO thing boy. To me, your name is Roy, and it always will be."

His lips twitched into the barest hints of a smile.

The general grinned. "That's better. Now let's go eat something fancy. You look like a corpse."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mortis they called him. Death.

But then again, what was he but death?

He had become so much greater than what he once was. A hundred of the best had been pitted against his lonesome, and he had emerged victorious. A thousand, and the result had been the same. What was he now?

A clone of The Night's Hunter?

No. Anything but that. He didn't want to be a monster.

But...he was turning into one. He had delighted in the crack of broken bones and the moans of pain from the soldiers. He had wanted to kill, and only the presence of the general had kept him from doing so. But soon, not even that will do, for he was going mad. Yes. Mad. The memories that were not his were flooding his head. It wouldn't have been so bad if it was just like watching a TV, but memories didn't work that way.

New memories worked as if HE was doing it all over again. He saw himself kill, slaughter, _murder._ He felt himself glory in what he did, and he loved it. Oh, the power The Night's Hunter has. Such addictive power, and he knew it would be his if he let himself be lost to the madness.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They say it has only been a year, but has it really been that short?

It felt like years since he was...normal.

These days, it was only through the combined efforts of his iron will and the general's presence that he remained sane. He was regularly put through missions now, and every one was a magnificent success. Each one brought him closer to the brink, and the last one had almost done it.

The memories had gained a whole new perspective when he did his regular check-up on the target's location. It had been just like one of His old missions, and he had snapped. He had done it then and there. He had killed everyone inside the base without any help from his team, and he only regained his senses after he struck the fatal blow to the last one: a young boy no doubt browbeaten into joining them.

He had been smiling like a madman when had done so.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He was now crazy. Now how would he know that you ask? Well, he had read books, and what he did certainly qualified as mad.

After all, killing a priest and an entire church full of Christians counted as insane didn't it? He had impaled the priest to the altar, and the man had been forced to watch his people slaughtered, crying all the while, before he cut off his head and played kickball with it.

Everyone was terrified of him now. They were terrified he would flip out and kill everyone. His men, the people around him, even the general himself. Oh, poor old man. Don't be. He may be mad, but he would never forget what he did for him. Never. Mortis never forgets...

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Why?"

The general's question merely made the smile widen. "Why what? Why did I kill everyone? Why did I spare you? Why am I crazy? There are many ways to interpret 'why'."

He shook his head, even as he gazed sadly at the blood-soaked walls. "Oh you poor boy. I should never have told you about the project."

"And why not? I feel so damn alive! And no doubt, I'll be in the history books! It's a dream come true!"

The old man shook his head once more. "Not in this way it isn't."

Mortis shrugged. "Whatever. I'm off to cause mayhem to the innocently fun to harm populace of the world. Ta-ta old man!" He ran away, and the general heard not a sound.

Mortis didn't stop until he was in one of his safehouses, and it was there that the madness dropped to reveal the man; Roy.

He cried. For all the deaths he had caused, and for the others he will. The world will suffer, because he lived.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A ruined town burned in the light of the afternoon, eerily silent, no scavengers entering it despite the tantalizing smell of dead meat.

In the town square, stalls were lined up, as were garlands and ribbons and flags and other decorations. It was the day of a festival, but none were there to celebrate.

In the middle of a sea of corpses, a man sighed, the sound lost in the wind.

He opened his eyes, showing blood-red orbs. Well, most of them anyway. A third of his right eye remained stubbornly brown, but the red was spreading, and if you looked closely, you would see the bloody color seemingly _corrupting _the brown shade, red tendrils digging into the russet body and growing thicker.

He stood up, staring straight ahead, his corpse-pale skin a stark contrast to his black bodysuit, his brown hair streaked with black that seemed to ebb into brown as time passed. "Stop hiding. I can see you." He muttered, in a voice cracked with apathy and a deep weariness found only in the hardest of lives.

In the middle of the street, a figure formed, an inky-black body, and a blank red helm that showed nothing. It was like staring into a pool of blood. The Night's Hunter had come.

Mortis laughed, the sound a harsh disparity to his earlier voice. An unnatural fervor was in it, along with a madness unlike any before. "They finally sent you didn't they? It took a lot longer than I expected. Heh. Their bigotry knows no bounds."

A dull gray katana and gun appeared in the helmed man's grasp, and he stalked forward.

The brown-haired man grinned widely, showing off pointier-than-normal canines. "So it finally comes to this doesn't it? The greatest killer that ever walked the earth, and the madman spawned from his blood. I wonder who'll win?" He unsheathed a gleaming katana from his back, while his left drew a black pistol from its holster on his hip.

The helmed man tilted his head to the side. "Is that even a question? Do not delude yourself fool. You are nothing compared to me and my kin. Any one of mine can kill you. It is a mere coincidence that I was sent for your head."

Mortis growled, the sound more primal than any man's had any right to be. "Arrogant bastard! You say all that while you come at me with weapons that have no right to exist! Without it, you will lose! No doubt! Fight me truly, The Night's Hunter, or are you a coward?"

The shadowy figure stopped, cocking his head to the side. He seemed to shrug, and his weapons disappeared, to be replaced by a plain katana and a silver pistol. "Once. Just this once. And never again. You fools need to understand that the legend did not come into being without a mountain of corpses to support it."

The brown-haired man cackled wildly, and they rushed at each other. Sparks flew as their blades met, even as they shot at each other.

They both dodged, abhuman reflexes showing themselves fully, and they spun, blade grinding against gun, gun grinding against blade. Limbs flashed in unidentifiable movements, and they ended up locked, staring resolutely at each other as they each tried to get the upper hand in the tied limbs.

The Night's Hunter broke the lock, dislocating his shoulders with twin loud pops, and he surprised his enemy enough to be able to hammer him with two limp blows as he spun away, reasserting his shoulders with nary a flinch. His enemy spat at the ground, and proceeded to shoot at the inky figure.

He seemed to blur and fade and teleport, none of the bullets hitting him. He reacted with a similar volley, and the brown-haired man avoided them with the barest of movements. A sidestep here, a tilted head there, a slight bend somewhere.

They glared at each other, and suddenly they were both gone.

A lamppost was cut in half, and the severed rod fell to the ground with a clang. Bullets broke through windows, shattering them, while the ground was razed by multiple slashes. Blood flew every now and then, along with the meaty thuds of flesh on flesh.

A minute later, the guns were thrown away as they ran out of bullets, and sometime later, one of the swords dropped to the ground. It was quickly followed by the other as someone screamed in rage.

The sick crack of breaking bone was heard, and they were visible once again, the helmed man having blocked a solid kick from the red-eye. He didn't even flinch at the doubtless broken forearm, and proceeded to grab the leg against it. His grip tightened, and bones broke and dislocated under a grip that could warp steel.

Mortis didn't so much as raise an eyebrow, proceeding to leap away. He grabbed his leg, and with a twist, reset the limb. Then they went head-to-head once more, the injuries that would have disabled any other men but bee stings to them.

Bones broke and shattered, tendons were stretched and ripped, while muscles strained and broke. Blood was leaking from the red-eyed man's lips, and he continued fighting, their bodies blurs as they fought with lethal skill and physical ability.

In the end, only one remained standing, as the red helm seemed to shine even as the inky body seemed to fade. Things snapped in rapid succession, followed by a continuous staccato of meaty blows that were done with such swiftness, it was a single note of horrifying pain.

The Night's Hunter's elbow slammed into the brunette's throat, followed by a devastating punch to the cranium. The red-eyed man was thrown away from the force, landing limply on the ground. The helmed man landed pitilessly on him, and proceeded to mercilessly hammer him with bone-breaking blows.

Even then, Mortis never once quivered in pain, reacting as best as he could with offence. But he was overwhelmed, and as the inky figure slammed his head brutally onto the concrete, he spoke, somehow managing to speak clearly, sanely, despite all the pain he must be in. "Finish it. End this accursed existence. It's what must be done."

The helmed man turned him over, and his fist slammed onto his enemy's spine. The body shuddered, an instinctive response. Then two fingers dug deeply into the back of his neck with vicious fervor, and the body went limp.

The helmed man stood up, and somehow, he seemed to grin, despite his mouth not being visible, but in an instant, even that was gone.

He looked behind him. "It's done."

The general nodded. "I was afraid you'd kill him."

"I owe you, and you know I always pay back my debts."

The old man nodded.

The Night's Hunter looked at the limp body. "To think...that such a shady copy could cause so much trouble. NOW do you understand why we cannot be on anyone's side?"

"I always did. My superiors didn't."

The inky figure chuckled. A chilling sound. "And they never will."

"Oh hell, don't tell me you killed them." The way the helm seemed to shine told him everything. He sighed. "Then how the heck am I gonna get access to the needed tech?"

The victor picked up the body. "You won't. Because of what has been done to this pitiful creature, he is now our business. Go. All of your problems have been taken care of by the Sovereigns. Everything will be as they had been, only better."

The general stared at him, before giving up. "Alright, do as you will, but whatever you do, please don't kill him. None of this is his fault."

"I never break my promises." And with that, the helmed man was gone.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What have you found out?" The male voice was perfectly polite, its tone carefully controlled as to not reveal anything.

"What we expected. The marks are appearing, and he's starting to look like a clone. The foreign cells are overwriting everything. It's just too much for normal human cells." Female, exasperated and somewhat full of pride, slight German accent.

"Honestly, when will the idiots learn? It's times like this that makes me regret letting the Recreator fix everything." Another female, haughty, practically same voice as the one before her. Twins.

"Are we going to kill him?" Male, teenager. Overexcited and eager.

"Maybe." Male, and cold, oh so very cold.

"Really?" The teenager was brimming with excitement now. "Oh yes! Finally! Something to shoot that's actually a challenge!

"Actually, no." The cold voice confirmed, and the teenager groaned gloomily.

"And why is that? This is an abomination, an insult to our entire family by the idiots that owe their existence to us." The second female.

"Umm...in their defense, we WERE the ones who blew them up in the first place." The first female.

The haughty female seemed to be pouting. "Oh, put a so-"

**Clack**

The sound silenced everyone, and the first male started speaking, his voice commanding. "The abominations are those misshapen eyesores that we destroyed. This man...is a survivor, and the nearest any human can possibly get to being one of us."

"I can feel a 'but' coming." The teenager.

"Shut up." Everyone but the first male said it.

"But that is it. He is merely the closest copy of us, ever. He will never be good enough to be among us, and he is a man hated by the world for what his madness has made him do. We can hide him, but a man such as him cannot live a life of anonymity. Most would choose to just kill him and get it over with, but a certain one of us made a promise."

"So what then?" The cold voice.

"Throw him into a portal while he's dosed up to his eyes in Comprehension, and make sure to livewire the machine. And make it a bumpy ride." The first voice.

"Umm...won't that make him crazier?" For once, the teenager was making sense. "Why would you want that do happen?"

"Because Dave said so." The first voice's answer made everyone flinch.

"...very well. Whatever must be done in his will." The second female was deferential now, a complete one-eighty for her.

"Make sure it is so." The first voice commanded.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Comprehension. A unique drug in that it caused sanity, for it forced the mind to comprehend everything about, inside, and around it, in that order, at least until the drug wore off. They say that if you comprehend through enough things, you'll eventually comprehend the meaning of life and the answer to the universe.

But, you know what they say; too much of anything is a bad thing, and there CAN be too much sanity. An ounce was the highest-accepted non-lethal dose. They had dosed him with an amount three times that.

Mortis was convulsing wildly, as he was forced to face his madness and comprehend it, to calm it, to harness it, to become sane once more. Surprisingly, it seemed that he was actually succeeding with the help of the drug.

They didn't bother finding out, as they revved up the portal.

"Umm...are we supposed to just throw him in like this?" The first female.

Silence for a moment, before the first voice spoke. "Take away his weapons. Give him a Vasa katana and an Alteris pistol. Remove the bio-suit and dress him in the adapter matter. Here, put this around his neck. We don't leave our own unprotected and looking like a tourist in another world."

The teen's voice giggled. "Do you know how weird that sounds after you asked them to get rid of the stronger weapons and a super-suit?"

"Shut up." Everyone.

The teen seemed to sulk.

Ten more seconds and Roy would have finally gone past the madness. Ten more seconds and he would be a sane man once more, but they didn't bother about it. They grabbed his shaking body and threw it bodily into the unstable portal.

If it were a secure one, it would have been just as if they had thrown him through another door, but they had pushed its power output to the limit, all the while making the essential calculations as loose as possible. They had even downsized the protections so that he faced just-below-fatal rigors of dimensional travel. This was going to hurt.

His mind was basically finishing gathering all its cards and getting to know them when they threw him in, and his mind shattered beyond all hope of redemption. Memories were blasted into a magnificent mess, even as he screamed at the loss in his final moments of lucidity.

His body experienced sudden heat, before suddenly being replaced by extreme cold, then electrocution, followed by being unable to breathe, all the while hurtling through space like a lumpy plane.

It was a relief when the portal finally spat him out, and he crashed painfully to the ground, tearing up the grass. Vaguely, he heard two more things being thrown out, even as he felt the jumpsuit he had been dressed in slither and pulse and change.

Something seemed to shatter, the sound much like breaking porcelain, though by now, he was too tired to care, and he embraced the sweet oblivion of sleep.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Professor Alphonse Mahogany Stroak dropped the cup of tea he had been drinking from as what could only be described as a tear in the fabric of reality opened in his veranda, spitting out a young man dressed in a pulsing gray jumpsuit that immediately changed into black pants, trekking shoes, and a plain gray shirt. The portal spat out a sheathed katana and what looked suspiciously like a pre-Sukebe gun, before disappearing.

He glared at where the portal had been at. "ANOTHER dimensional traveler? Someone up there really hates me doesn't he?"

He looked at his titmouse. "Maryanne, would you be a dear and get this poor boy in the infirmary? He looks like he's gone through hell."

And indeed he did. There were burn marks all over his body, along with numerous cuts, bruises, lacerations, and, strangely enough, bluish spots that could only have come from extreme cold.

The pokegirl complied.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He opened his eyes, and saw light.

He blinked, and in a second, his eyes got used to the glare, and he looked unflinchingly at the lightbulb. He shifted his sight, and studied the room.

_Hospital_

The word came unbidden into his shattered mind, and all the information associated with the word came with it. He just lay there, knowing that if he was in a hospital, then he wasn't in any immediate danger, and he rested.

The door opened, and a female stepped in. Female because it was obviously so by the figure, the breasts, and the vagina, but its larger-than-normal ears, fur, and tail somehow made him think of a mouse.

The mere thought of the word sent all his memories about it rushing back, which was based mainly around him setting up traps and poison for them, or just plain trying to kill them with a machine gun.

He studied the female, and decided that yes, she DID resemble a mouse, and proceeded to think of ways to kill her just like every other mouse.

Maryanne, heedless of the man's thoughts, approached him, smiling as best as she could while he stared at her with his strange eyes. They were red, and seemed...cracked. Like a mirror hit by a blow that didn't quite shatter it, but one it certainly didn't suffer unscathed. It was unnerving. "You're awake. Good. The professor was worried about you."

He had been in the middle of devising how to make use of a giant mousetrap when she spoke, and he blinked, tilting his head to the side. She...talked. Mice didn't talk, so did that mean she wasn't a mouse? He shrugged, and abandoned both thoughts, deciding it would be easier to think later on, when his entire body didn't feel like crap. "Professor?"

"Umm...yes. The professor. You gave him quite a shock when you got here."

There was silence for a while, as he didn't now what to think. He didn't know anything besides hospitals and how much he apparently hated mice, and the only thing he got out of 'professor' was the image of him reclining on sofa while a man in a suit talked to him, jotting down notes on a clipboard. He didn't like it one bit.

He closed his eyes. "Sleep now. Talk later. Head hurts." He muttered.

Maryanne blinked, and by the time she opened her mouth, he was already asleep. She pouted.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He had slept for a day, and by then, he felt properly rested, if a bit disgruntled. The mouse/female thing had told him that the professor wanted to talk to him. Deciding that it would be rude to decline after living under his roof, he agreed, all the while devising ways to kill the mouse/female thing if it turned out that she WAS a mouse.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Professor Stroak smiled as his visitor entered the room. He stood up, and was about to welcome him when the man suddenly looked at him. His cracked red eyes stared into his own, and he saw madness in them, along with a hostility unnatural.

The man hissed, the primal sound making the professor wince, and the man leaped away, backing into a wall, shaking wildly, cursing like a sailor. He tried to approach him, but the man yelled at him. "NO! Do not go near me! Stay away-NO! Just...don't move. Don't move. I need to concentrate."

Reluctantly, the old man complied, and slowly, the visitor stopped quivering. "W-What's wrong?" He tentatively asked.

The man breathed deeply, the action controlled. "I do not know why old man, but the moment I saw you, I had the sudden urge to kill you." The blatant answer made Stroak gasp in shock. "It still persists, and I keep it in check only through a force of will that I cannot promise I can keep up."

"Why? I'm sure I haven't done anything to provoke you. Why, I even helped you recover."

The man sighed. "I do not know that, for I do not know much of anything besides the fact that I apparently kill every mouse I see, layouts of various hospitals, and that I went to a psychiatrist once."

Stroak blinked in surprise. "You have amnesia?"

He let out a breath. "Yes. That...is what it is called."

The aged professor frowned. "So you do not know your name?"

The man froze, the word echoing in his shattered mind.

_Name_

Many came unbidden, but only one shone above the others.

"No. I know my name, or at least I _think _it's my name..."

"What is it?"

He took a deep breath, as if saying the name was a great effort. "Mortis."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

For professor Stroak, it had been a hell and a half to get to know Mortis.

The man was mad, that much he could tell, and his questions had been rather pointed and terrifying; "Is she a mouse? Because if she is, I'll have to kill her."

He had immediately discouraged this notion by saying that Maryanne was a pokegirl, certainly not a rodent.

Mortis' reaction was a blank stare.

He had amended this by explaining to him exactly what a pokegirl was, and somehow, this evolved into a history lesson of what happened worldwide starting from the time Linda McKenzie found out about Sukebe's first creations.

When he had finally finished, the blank stare had become pointed, and Stroak was wondering whether telling him about it had been such a good idea.

Mortis sighed deeply. "If I was a moral person, I just might try to kill this entire blasted world just on speaking terms, but considering the fact that I believe I was a man that deserved the worst circle of hell for his crimes, I won't."

Stroak blinked stupidly. "What?"

Mortis grinned, the action unsettling in the fact that it looked completely fake, as if the one doing it didn't know how to do it, and did it based entirely on how he heard it should be done. Considering the man's level of amnesia, that just might be it.

"I get...glimpses. Peeks into the person I possibly am, and I tell you professor, they're not good. A sea of dead men isn't nice. A building of tortured women doesn't inspire benevolence. A school of mutilated children doesn't indicate kindness." He sighed. "So many dead people...what can I possibly be, to have done such atrocities? Compared to what I see, whatever pervertive sins this world's men may have commited, are but a drop to the lake of atrocities I may have done."

He had then stood up, and promptly waked back to the infirmary to sleep.

Stroak couldn't manage such a thing for days.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"There were two other things that the portal spat out besides me, what were they?"

Stroak flinched at the sudden question, moreso by the fact that he had never heard him coming. He turned to face his rather unwelcome visitor, and proceeded to gulp, unnerved by the intent gaze, the cracked red orbs staring a hole into him. "A sword and a gun. That was all."

Mortis tilted his head the side. "A gun..." A spark of memory seemed to come to him, and he understood. "Weapons both. Of course, after what I said a few days ago, it should be fully expected of you to try to keep me away from anything even vaguely dangerous." His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Nonetheless, I want them. They are the only things I have left from where I came from." It was an order, and Stroak couldn't help but give him the things.

Mortis studied the weapons carefully, before holstering the gun to his thigh and clipping the katana to his belt. He nodded. "Thank you." He left.

Stroak stood still for several moments, before he nearly collapsed in relief. He almost thought that Mortis would recover memories better left in the depths, and go on a killing spree worthy of his memories.

He blinked as he realized something: he had thanked him.

That, was a marked improvement.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In the days after Stroak's first conversation with him, Mortis had simply trudged around the facility and the surrounding hill, and had done the same after being given his weapons, so it was a surprise when the red-eyed man approached him for books.

"Books?" The professor had exclaimed, blinking furiously.

Mortis looked straight at him. "Yes. Books. I apparently reclaim memories associated with new words I think of, and what better way to find new words than to read books? I intend to reclaim as much of my old life as I can, be they for better or for worse. And then...I'll see what I think of."

As dangerous as letting a possible genocidal maniac reclaim his memories was, Stroak didn't have a choice in the matter, as Mortis seemed prone to snap if he didn't do as he said, so he obliged.

But even as he sent messages asking for books from various universities and libraries, he entertained the thought of secretly asking for help, or maybe to ask his dragoness; Anastasia, to fight him. Certainly Mortis, with all the possible skill he had in killing, was free prey with his memories buried deep inside him, but Mortis' next words stopped this line of thought.

"I know what you're thinking, and I don't fault you for it. I have an idea of what I seem to normal people and...it's not a nice picture." He sighed. "Right now, I have a very crude grasp of morals, but if I'm as bad as I think I am, then that will fade into the wind if I recover myself fully. I owe you. I owe you a lot, and if there comes a time where I'm too much of a danger, don't hesitate to kill me." He had left after these words, and Stroak had decided to risk it.

After all, even if he DID recover his memories and try to kill him, he would still take his bet on Anastasia winning. Entire platoons of soldiers along with tanks and other war vehicles had tried to take on Dragonesses and lost. What chance did a lone mass murderer have?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mortis firmly closed the book, before settling on his chair. "I'm done."

"Hmm?"

"Gardening. I apparently had a pot of dandelions back where I came from, but that's all I got. Something small and inconsequential. It's all that I get now, nothing major, just a single minor tidbit." He gestured to the other books on entirely different subjects he had read. "I've recovered all that I care to recover, and I am deciding what course to take in this foreign world."

Stroak smiled. "For a man who's gone to the future, you seem decidedly calm about this."

He shook his head. "No. I don't believe that. Something is missing in this world, something I know would have stayed if this truly is the future."

Stroak shrugged. "Whatever you say."

Mortis looked at him for a few seconds, before turning his gaze elsewhere. "I feel like a hobo, and no-don't say otherwise professor. I do nothing for you. I eat your food, I take up your space, and I do nothing but give you nightmares and headaches. I need to do something, and as much as it should gall me, there is no other choice: I have to be a tamer."

Stroak blinked in surprise. "What? I thought you were against that!"

Mortis smiled slightly, the action still decidedly fake-looking and unsettling. "No, I never said I was. I only said I would be if I were a moral person, and professor, to be honest, I am insane. I get what morals mean to normal people, but they are but words to me. I can torture and kill a child and feel no remorse for what I did."

The professor paled at this, and Mortis frowned. "See what I mean? That's another nightmare for you. I may be mad, but I have my pride; or what SEEMS to be my pride, and it demands that I pay you back for all the trouble I have caused you. I shall be a tamer. I will earn my keep and pay you back, and no, you have no choice over the matter."

Stroak sighed. "Very well, but if you want to be a tamer, you have to pass either a written test or a psychic interview." The professor chuckled. "We could see where that would lead to. They'd lock you up so fast it'll make your head spin."

Mortis spoke in a monotone. "So I'm stuck with studying everything about pokegirls until the most renowned professor of this world decides that I'm good enough for him." He groaned in despair. "Oh joy. Did I mention that I apparently hate learning?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Teaching Mortis had been...interesting.

Aside from his very obvious hatred of anything even slightly resembling an education, he apparently had enough sense to endure the torture and actually _learn. _While this made teaching him quite enjoyable, the underlying threat of him snapping from frustration and trying to kill everyone put quite a bit of a dampen on his spirits. Nonetheless, it didn't take long before Stroak had decided that he had learned enough to pass the test.

Stroak himself administered the basic assessment, Mortis coming out with no blood gifts or curses whatsoever, despite the greater-than-normal abilities he seemed to show (Stroak surmised that this was because the test acquired the results through studying the DNA, and since Mortis didn't have a single pokegirl cell in him, abilities that might be similar to blood gifts weren't counted as such), before taking the test and passing perfectly. It was with great pleasure that the professor handed him his pokedex and tamer's license.

Mortis studied the gadget, familiarizing himself with it, before shrugging and putting it in a pocket. "So...what pokegirls do I get to choose from?"

Stroak grinned. "Follow me." He led him to another room, where three pokeballs lay innocent on three cushions. "Well, take your pick!"

Mortis looked at them, as if willing them to open up and reveal their contents. "Do I get to open them all up and choose?"

"Nope!" This was said with not a small amount of glee.

He sighed, and grabbed the middle one. "DO NOT tell me what's inside. I'll found out myself later." And with that, Mortis walked away from Stroak and into the wide world of pokegirls, sure to face copious amounts of danger, perversion, and madness. Not necessarily in that order and possibly simultaneously.

Stroak resisted the urge to cry like Soun Tendo as he watched his several-month-long visitor walk away. He had actually started warming up to the corpse-pale young man. If he was to describe it, he would say that Mortis had the charm of a demon that honestly wanted to be good, and tried to do so through acting like what he had heard moral people acted like. It was endearing in a very freaky sort of way.

"You do know that you're sending a possible genocidal maniac into a world so unlike his own that anyone from his timeline would probably go crazy from the strain, right?" His Dragoness, Anastasia, commented.

The professor grinned. "Yup. But hey, Mortis is _already _crazy. And he can't be any worse than a mantis at the most. He's a strange man, that boy, and one way or another, he's going to give the league a very big headache."

"Sadist." Anastasia muttered.

**Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**And so ends the first chapter of the story of an insane amnesiac mass murderer in a world that is any pervert's nirvana. **

**Anyone seeing the possibilities there?**


	2. Chapter 2

**The Scion of the Hunter: Tribulations of the Mad**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Pokegirls. There, now will you lawyers PLEASE stop stalking me?**

**Note: If there are any grammar, spelling, or information mistakes, please tell me. I hate mistakes.**

**Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Mortis stared at the rather..._curvy _pokegirl that he had called out, tilting his head to the side as he studied it. Two inches or so over five feet with breasts that he could somehow immediately calculate as a rather generous double D, she would have looked completely human without the mottled leaf-green skin and the bulb on her back a bit larger than a soccer ball. Nonetheless, she was quite a pretty specimen to look at.

Likewise, the pokegirl looked demurely at her new tamer: an inch or two below six feet, with a lithe sleek gymnast's build, corpse-pale skin, and brown hair that slightly covered his eyes.

His eyes. They both alarmed and fascinated her, for she had never even heard of natural cracked red eyes like he had. He wore black pants, brown boots, and a dark gray shirt, a metallic string around his neck connected to the small gray disk with an inky black center that lied on his chest. A sheathed sword was fastened to his belt on his left, a shining silver gun holstered to his left thigh.

After a minute or so of staring at each other, Mortis abruptly drew out his pokedex and scanned the female.

**BOOBISAUR, the Busty Plant Pokégirl**  
**Type:** Near Human  
**Element:** Plant/Poison  
**Frequency:** Common  
**Diet:** sunlight, water, nutrients through soil  
**Role:** Farming, Gardening, Soil Regeneration, Libido boosters.  
**Libido:** Average  
**Strong Vs:** Electric, Plant, Water, Rock, Fighting  
**Weak Vs:** Psychic, Fire, Flying, Ice  
**Attacks:** Tackle, Vine Whip, Razor Leaf, Leech Seed, Lust Dust, Vine Bondage  
**Enhancements:** Solar Rejuvenation, Seasonal Camouflage, Nature's Senses, Enhanced Durability (x3), Enhanced Strength (x4, Vines Only)  
**Evolves:** Ivywhore (normal)  
**Evolves From:** None

"Boobisaur?..." He muttered experimentally, not a trace of emotion in his voice, and decided then and there that he was going to give her a proper name the moment he could think of one. He felt...dirty, calling her as such. Which was weird really. Now that you mention it, he could call any human the worst names you could ever imagine, but he couldn't help but call Stroak's pokegirls by their actual names everytime they talked.

"Y-Yes?" She asked demurely.

"Do you have a name?" She probably didn't, but it never hurt to ask.

She shook her no, and all was silent for several minutes.

"Flora."

The pokegirl blinked in surprise. "Master?"

"Flora." Mortis repeated impassively. "That shall be your name, now come." He went back to walking on the dirt road of Route One, the newly-christened Flora following after him.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mortis didn't really know what to expect when he encountered his first feral.

He certainly didn't expect to suddenly find a Titmouse crossing the road as he turned a corner.

For several moments, there was silence, as he wondered what to do with the feral, moving not at all the entire time, while the Titmouse didn't run by the virtue of the fact that the sudden intruder seemed to have suddenly turned into a statue.

Finally, he settled on an idea, after remembering what the 'dex said about his starter. "Flora, Lust Dust then Vine Bondage."

The Titmouse bolted, but Flora was too fast, throwing a large amount of the shining dust at the Titmouse, who immediately tripped at the sudden spike in her libido. By that time, Flora was upon her, vines sprouting from her bulb for the next attack.

Mortis tilted his head to the side at the sight of the lurid scene, somehow feeling as if he should be running away right now and never return, but squashed the feeling. Whatever part of his psyche it must have been, he didn't want it, since that was what it suggested with EVERY shockingly sexual moment he had seen.

A minute or so later, the Titmouse was a twitching pile of flesh, and at his command, Flora drew out the phallic bulbs she had used on the feral, stepping away as a pokeball hit the Titmouse, capturing it with nary a bleep.

He looked at Flora. "Quite effective. I think we're going to use that on every one of those we find." He muttered in the monotone he always talked in.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Flora, entangle the bitch. She's getting on my nerves." Mortis said this not without a large amount of irritation, having been annoyed at how much the damn thing kept getting away.

Vines sprouted from Flora, going at the pokegirl from all sides, for once successfully immobilizing it. Mortis didn't spare a moment to peg it with a pokeball. The feral resisted for several seconds, but eventually, the red light turned blue, indicating capture.

He let out a breath. "Alright, what the damn hell was that? It kept on dodging everything!"

"A Bunnygirl master."

There silence for a few moments, before Mortis proceeded to look it up on his pokedex.

"DUMB LUCK? THAT was what made it so damn hard to catch? Gods, the universe truly favors the fools don't they?" He muttered several more curses before pocketing the pokedex. Flora had caught three Titmice and now, a Bunnygirl. Not bad, for a few hours of work.

Something cawed loudly, and he looked up, barely managing to drop to the ground as some kind of bird pokegirl nearly took his head off. He swiped out his pokedex.

**PIDGY (aka BIRDY, aka CANARY), the Tweety Bird Pokégirl**  
**Type:** Animorph (bird)  
**Element:** Flying  
**Frequency:** Common  
**Diet:** insectivore, grains, some plants  
**Role:** often used as a pet, sometimes as a courier or scout  
**Libido:** Average  
**Strong Vs:** Bug, Plant, Fighting  
**Weak Vs:** Cat-type Pokégirls, Rock, Electric  
**Attacks:** Gust, Swift, Taunt, Move By, Quick Attack, Feather Shuriken  
**Enhancements:** Minor levitation ability, lightweight frame, altered digestive system, hips and knees are free-jointed, feet are prehensile, arms and hands are wings, lack of hair (down & feathers), improved respiration, small size (4' or 1.35m), Enhanced Eyesight x3  
**Evolves:** Pidgette (normal), Pidgeota (evolved Pidgette; normal), Swanmaid (Angel Stone), Divette (Water Stone), Falcongentle (battle stress), Hooter (Dark Stone), Murkunt (Moon Shard)  
**Evolves From:** None

It was a flying type? Damn. Flora wasn't good against these things.

He blinked. Wait a minute, why wasn't HE doing anything. Sure, he might be toast against a Mantis or something like that, but from what he knew, the low-level ones were quite fragile, easily killable by normal humans. On another note, he also had weapons.

He grinned.

Flora was quite surprised when her tamer proceeded to draw the gun from his thigh, squint at the flying pokegirl, then shoot twice.

The flying female yelped in pain, blood flying out somewhere from both her wings, and she fell to the ground with a rather muted thump. She was bruised, but alive.

Mortis holstered the gun whilst throwing a pokeball at the downed opponent, the sphere entrapping her with no resistance whatsoever. Walking over to the pokeball, he spotted something glinting in the weak sun. He picked them up: two blood-soaked bullets. He had never really fired the gun before, so he had never had the chance to see their effectiveness. Now that he could, he was quite impressed.

Made out of the same uniform gray metal as the gun itself, they weren't the snub-nosed bullets of policemen, they were thin and long and oh so very pointed and sharp. He knew that if he brought the point to bear against his skin, it would pierce it with the barest of effort. No wonder it had gone through the pokegirl so cleanly.

Another loud screech, and he turned so fast any other human would have gotten a whiplash, shooting at the source of the sound.

The bird pokegirl turned sideways, and he missed her wings. His arm covered his face, and claws raked across his forearm, drawing blood with a delighted screech. He turned once again, eyes narrowing slightly, and fired once. The bullet shot into her back, and with a gurgling groan, she crashed to the ground.

He walked over to her, casually flipping her over to see that the bullet had passed through once again, before capturing her. He looked around him, and found it lodged deep inside a tree, irrecoverable. He muttered a low curse for the bullet, before shrugging and striding back on the road, Flora hastening to keep up with him as he bandaged his forearm on the way.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Day neared it end, sunset but an hour or so away, and this was when Mortis set up camp, choosing a clearing he had found a-ways off the road.

He glanced at his starter. "Rest." He considered his next words, before mentally shrugging and going with it. "You did good today." He rolled a water bottle at her.

Flora blushed, before smiling at the chosen land, walking around it before settling on a particularly sunny area, sighing in pleasure as she immersed herself in the sunlight, every now and then drinking from the bottle.

Mortis sat down beside the tent, silently nibbling on his food, not bothering to make a fire for two reasons: one; he believed it would just draw the ferals to them, and two; he didn't need it. He wasn't at all uncomfortable by the temperature (food, or otherwise), and he could see quite clearly in the night.

The sky turned orange, then slowly started to fade to black, and Mortis tapped the apparently drowsy Boobisaur on the shoulder, telling her to get inside the tent. She blinked, slowly, as if having a hard time understanding him, and he proceeded to pick her up, eliciting an 'eep!' from the surprised pokegirl.

He gently laid her down on the fuuton, before settling down on the other one, preparing to sleep.

He blinked, sitting up and looking at Flora, who simply sat on her bed, blushing as she gave a needing look at him.

Mortis tilted his head to the side, frowning, before he remembered something from her file, groaning at his stupidity. He looked at her, noting her frantic breathing and the way she kept on rubbing her thighs together. "Of course. I forgot, you're horny after you bask in the sun aren't you?"

She nodded, and there was silence for a while, as Mortis proceeded to digest this piece of information.

If he had been any other tamer, he would probably be fucking her by now, but he wasn't. It seemed as if there was something missing, or maybe that this was going too fast. But no, she needed this. He needed this. She needed taming to keep herself from going feral, and he needed to tame her to make a bond with her, something that was vital for a tamer and his starter, and that stupid voice in his head wasn't going to stop him. Mainly because he shot it down already and it wasn't getting back up again. Ever. Don't ask how he did it.

With that logic, Mortis mentally shrugged and put a warmer-than-normal hand to her cheek, caressing the skin oh so lightly, and Flora shivered, as the sensation resembled how she thought silk sliding over her skin would feel like, only with an extra kick due to the blissfully warm skin.

The pale man leaned in, taking her lips, and she eagerly granted him entrance, moaning as his feverishly hot lips touched her own, the warmth delightfully sensual, the tongue that eagerly explored her own even more so.

His other hand went downwards to her rump, squeezing it to her delight, before lifting her and placing her on his lap. He squeezed once more, and she snuggled against him, vibrating with desire as she rubbed herself against his hot body. "Very...supple...I like it." He muttered between kisses, and Flora blushed, before moaning in pleasure as he finished the kiss, sliding to her cheek and to her ear, leaving a trail of kisses, before settling on her lobe and proceeding to nibble, eliciting another pleasurable moan.

He grinned, although it seemed..._fake_ somehow. Flora decided then and there that she liked her master with that neutral mask more. "You liked that didn't you?" He asked, and she nodded unabashedly.

He responded with a mirthless chuckle, and his left hand cupped her sex, feeling the wet glistening vagina, the other limb grasping one of her breasts, fingering the nipple. "Horny. And wanton about it too. You're not shy in showing me how wet you are." Her nipple hardened under his ministrations, and he pinched it, making her cry out. "Nor how hard those tits of yours have gotten."

He plunged his fingers into her cunt, four all at once, stifling her cry when he started moving them with the skill of a master, making her squirm. "Tight. I just know it'll feel heavenly when I spear you little flower." He muttered nonchalantly, and he grabbed her hand, putting it to his unzipped crotch, putting her hand around his rather large dick.

Her eyes widened when she felt the member come alive at her touch, hardening and pulsing, and she marveled at the girth and length, wondering if it'll even fit her in the first place.

He gave a soft moan as she squeezed. "There it goes lass. Pump it, make me feel good." He muttered. She obeyed, and he leaned down, suckling and kneading her bountiful breasts as he simultaneously fingered her.

After a few minutes, he put his thumb and forefinger to a nub in her cunt, and he squeezed.

She yelped, shuddering in orgasm, and he raised an eyebrow as he felt her walls clench tightly around his fingers, loosening after several moments of post-orgasmic shivering and moaning.

Flora panted, before blinking as he removed his hand from her vagina. She watched, wide-eyed, as he brought his soaked fingers to his mouth and sucked her juices from them. He licked his lips. "Tangy. I want more." He muttered, making her blush, before looking down at his groin. "You haven't gotten me off yet either." He took off his shirt, revealing a deliciously muscled body, and Flora 'eep'ed when he removed her from his lap then dove down to her moist opening, turning over so that he was on his back, with her all but laying on top of him, her vagina before his mouth, and his twitching cock right in front of her face.

He kicked off his pants, and gestured to his still-hard cock. "Make me come little flower, just as I did you." He said in that cold voice of his, and she felt her body heat up, before she rubbed her face against the meaty tool, smelling its scent, and her body shuddered in lust in reaction.

Mortis twitched when she licked the slit at its tip, lapping up the precum oozing out, finding the taste salty, but delectable. She kissed the head, before licking downward from crown to base, going even lower and sucking on his balls, basking in the heady smell. He gave a pleased gasp, rubbing her thigh approvingly. "Good. Good girl." He started licking at her cunt, savoring the juices of her moist opening, and he gave a rumbling purr when she pressed her cunt down at him.

She blushed, wondering if her tamer had feline pokegirl ancestry when he did the sinful sound, before shuddering as he started nibbling the sensitive nub. Oh god, he was going to make her cum again, and she hadn't even gotten him off once!

She opened her mouth, taking in as much as she could in it. Her tongue swirled all over it, relishing its delicious flavor, and she started to deepthroat him, fighting off her gag reflex until she had about three quarters of it in. She pulled out nearly all of it until she had but the head in, her hands stroking its length, before taking in as much of it as she could once again, massaging his balls and whatever part of it she didn't have in her mouth.

He groaned. "Damn good. Do it again little flower." He muttered, and she obliged, making the large tool twitch in response, more precum oozing out. "Yes. That's...how you do it...lass." He said between licks, and she continued doing it, drawing out pleased sighs from the pale man.

Several minutes more of this, and Flora was a touch short of orgasming again. Panting heavily, she grabbed her breasts, putting the large cock between them, and squeezed, rubbing the throbbing member with her breasts as she sucked and licked the head.

He froze, before speaking in a tense voice. "Take it in lass, I'm going to come, and I want you to swallow it all."

Her eyes widened, and she took in the head, before his body rippled, a groan bursting out of his throat as his dick released its seed into her mouth. He came, a lot, the action making HER cum, and she was unable to swallow it all, his seed oozing out of her mouth even as her tamer happily lapped up her juices, the lurid sounds making her body heat up.

She moved her tongue, and was surprised to feel that he was till hard. If anything, it seemed to have gotten harder!

He pulled himself out of her, slipping out from under her and sitting up. She looked behind her to his face, noting the wetness on it and the way he licked his lips as if having eaten the food of the gods. Or was looking at it.

She shivered under his gaze.

He chuckled, and he cupped her vagina, stroking it. "Damn fine taste you have. But as of now, what we did was just the appetizer." His other hand snaked down to her breasts, stroking them. He grabbed one, "Hefty..." and squeezed. She moaned. "...but firm. It felt heavenly when you used them." A strange glint shone in his eyes as he raked them over her form, the sheer intensity of the action making her shiver.

He put the hand on her breasts to her cheek, bading her to look into his eyes. It was a captivating experience. "A beautiful lass if I ever saw one. I want you. Do you want me? Let me tell you now that I may be someone the entire world should hate."

Her mouth was dry, though she was sure her cheeks were beet red from blushing. Not want him? He had been kind to her. He had complimented her, and as far as she new, he was a good man. Who cared abut the world? Here was a tamer she knew she could learn to love.

She nodded.

For a moment, he seemed to smile, despite the fact that his mouth didn't move, but that disappeared instantly. He kissed her, before whispering in her ear; "I'm going to fuck you until you're a twitching pile of flesh little flower. And you're going to love every second of it."

She had been on all fours during the conversation, and it was a complete surprise to suddenly have him thrust his cock into her from behind.

Mortis moaned in bliss. She was tight, oh so very tight, and he had a dick larger than most people's. It was a close fit, made possible only because of her previous orgasms; which had slicked her pussy to satisfaction, though she still couldn't take his entire length. Nonetheless, it was a divine experience, possibly his first, and when her already-tight walls clenched around his cock, he hissed, the sound primal and sensual as he came at her heavenly tightness.

Flora moaned hotly, feeling the large tool hit her cervix. Any pain she might have felt was overwhelmed by the pleasure, as the great cock stretched her walls to near bursting, its throbbing length sending lightning bolts of pleasure cavorting throughout her body. She heard him hiss, the sound intense unlike any before it, before he came.

His member pulsed, throbbing heatedly and dazing her, before spurting out his hot seed into her womb. Her body responded, and she came, making her faint and lightheaded, barely able to think much of anything but the magnificent dick in her pussy and how _full _her cunt felt.

Slowly, as he recovered from his first orgasm in memory, he moved outward, feeling her walls clench at him, trying to keep him in. He prevailed, leaving only the crown of his dick inside, before thrusting in with enough force make her entire body rock with the strength of his thrust. He groaned, the magnificent feeling of her tight pussy seemingly intensifying. "So tight." He muttered.

Flora simply sighed when she felt his cock slam back in, reveling in the fullness. "Master..."

He grabbed her breasts, kneading them and tweaking the nipples, his mouth busy kissing and sucking her back and neck as he pulled out then thrust in. Faster and faster he did this, and she moaned and groaned and sighed in bliss as he did so, all the while muttering; "Master, oh yes, master, _oh __**master**__..._"

He didn't tire easily, and she lost track of time.

An hour, two hours, three? Or was it more? She didn't know how long he had been fucking her, nor how many times he had changed positions or reached their peak. All she knew was that they had been fucking for a long time, and now, she was laying limply sideways, one of her legs over his shoulder as he thrusted in and out of her pleasantly sore pussy. All she could do now was moan at the pleasure, sometimes finding the strength to rasp out "Master...".

She had orgasmed many, many times now, him only a few compared to her, yet he never let up. Now however, he seemed to be slowing down, but if he noticed this, he seemed to take offense at the sudden failing, and he went faster. She moaned weakly at the unexpected increase, her body once more reaching its limit, squeezing him tightly as the strongest orgasm she had ever had yet coursed through her body.

Mortis groaned at the tightness, and then, with a rumbling cry of release that she had a feeling the entire forest heard, he came, harder than he had ever done before, and she felt his seed; as it had done several times before, spurt into her, making her feel pleasantly full and warm and oh so loved.

He panted heavily, and she felt him run his fingers through her hair, before he leaned in, his breath on her ear. "Well, how was THAT little flower?"

She groaned. "Boobisaur." She muttered weakly, but in obviously-heard satisfaction.

He chuckled, before pulling out and moving off her and to his bed, lifting her up so she lied on his muscled chest. He stroked her breasts, feeling the stiff nipples that twitched and vied for his touch. He pinched them, eliciting a yelp from the pokegirl. He kissed the tips lightly, and she blushed. He raised an eyebrow. "Blushing? You know you like it. I thought _this-_" He plunged his cock into her tender cunt, and she gave a long, loud, moan. "-was more embarrassing than what I just did? You weren't embarrassed when I was fucking you senseless." He said all this in a monotone, as if he was a scientist asking a simple question.

My god, it was such a turn-on.

"Boobi...saur." She said, and he frowned.

"Taming shock eh?" He kissed her forehead. "Sleep. We'll talk about it when we can communicate." He closed his eyes, and Flora wondered if she should tell him to pull his dick out of her pussy.

She looked at it, noting the thick member inside her cunt, feeling a sudden shiver of pleasure, and decided she rather liked it inside her when sleeping.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mortis opened his eyes, and slowly, they moved downwards, sighting the busty green-skinned woman on top of him. He raised an eyebrow as he recalled the night.

He blinked, licking his lips, and he was reminded of her taste. The recollection sparked the sudden urge to make her cum and lap up her juices, but he rose above it, bringing up his hand to look at the time; two hours since after their taming session.

He grasped her pokeball, intending to recall her so that she could continue sleeping while he gathered everything up. She didn't have the ability of quick recovery, but he only needed two hours instead of eight to feel refreshed.

He pressed the ball to her, activating it, and she was sucked into the red light, sinking into the pokeball.

The pale man blinked, looking down to his dick and remembering it had been inside her. He already missed the feeling, but he ignored it, gathering his clothes: shirt, pants, shoes, and putting them on. No underwear, they tended to constrict his rather...ahem, _large _tool. That and mobility. It was MUCH easier to move with just his pants...he wasn't a pervert dammit!

He went out, and although it was still dark, he didn't have a hard time seeing and break camp, and several minutes later, he was back on the road, a shade of black against the midnight darkness of the ground.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mortis stared at the sign as he arrived in Viridick City, just now noticing a pattern: _'Boobisaur, Titmouse, Phallus Town, ViriDICK City? The hell, do they call __**everything **__around them with a pervert's label?' _Considering the kind of world he was in; one where a crazy genius who thought more with the brain between his legs than the one on his shoulders waged war on the entirety of humanity, they probably did.

He grunted, and entered the city, flashing his tamer's license to the guards.

He headed straight for the pokecenter, silently weaving in and out of the crowd, more an impression of a presence than anything else, and the NurseJoy nearly jumped into the air when he asked her to put the pokegirls in a healing cycle. "Oh! Sorry. It's just that, I didn't notice you coming."

He tilted his head to the side. "I'm a rather silent man." Silence reigned supreme for a few moments, before the NurseJoy nervously put the several severely wounded pokegirls (generally Pidgies) and Flora through the healing cycles, returning them to him a few minutes later.

Nodding in thanks, he walked over to a computer, logging in and contacting professor Stroak.

After a minute or so, the screen changed from the loading wallpaper into Stroak's aged gray-haired face. The professor grinned. "So, how did you like your starter?"

Mortis' lips twitched upwards ever so slightly. "She is...satisfactory. Good head on her shoulders. Follows instructions to the best of her ability." He shrugged. "Thirty-four."

Stroak blinked. "What?"

"Thirty four ferals. Do I send them to you, or what?"

The professor raised an eyebrow. "That's quite a lot."

Mortis shrugged.

Stroak nodded. "Very well, just send them to me through the computer. I'll give them all a rough scan before I pay you for them." The amnesiac did he was told, and after three minutes of reading through the list, he was given thirty-four thousand SLC, a bit more than a third of what he owed to Stroak. "You can keep the money for now and earn more. No need to rush. You can pay me when you're sure that the debt won't leave you lacking funds."

Nodding in thanks to the professor, he hung up, logging off the computer. He frowned, before turning to the NurseJoy. "Nurse? May I take the Storage License Test?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was harder than the Tamer's License Test, but considering that professor Stroak helped with his education, he passed it easily, and he gratefully took the License from the NurseJoy, muttering a clipped word of thanks.

After that, he proceeded to stock up on the pokeballs, putting a hundred in his pokepack (another thing he had bought through a loan from Stroak), along with numerous potions, salves, food, and other basic necessities.

Once done, he had gone to a bench and sat down, wondering what to do, absently hearing two boys, tamers probably, talking about a Dark Lady having gotten loose in the woods. He ignored them.

For several minutes, he sat there, before abruptly drawing out his pokedex and reading up on the city, raising an eyebrow at the suggestion of going to the reception hall in the gym. He shrugged, standing up and moving to it, looking it up on the map to make sure he didn't get lost.

A guard stopped him, and he raised an eyebrow. "Problems officer?"

His eyes narrowed. "Yeah. Where do you think you're going bub?"

Mortis pointed to the gym. "The lobby. I'm rather bored and didn't know what to do. Why, is it closed?"

He snorted. "No. Just on alert. You can never be too careful these days." He stepped aside. "Don't cause trouble and you'll be fine."

Mortis nodded, and he continued inside. A male secretary looked up at him from his desk. "No gym battles today. What do you want?"

He was ignored, as the pale man stepped up to the displays, eyes scanning the positions the numerous pokegirls were left in, emphasizing their unnatural features and hiding or blurring whatever trace of humanity they had.

He glanced to the side, where the secretary had walked to, smiling maliciously. "Gone here to take a look at the displays didn't you? Well, take a good look boy. Pokegirls. Hmph. They're nothing but bioweapons created by a pervert to destroy us all, and it shames me to think that some people in the Indigo League actually think they're _people._"

Mortis raised an eyebrow. "They're living. They breathe, they learn, they have emotions. What makes them so different?" He asked this in an impassive voice, like a man asking for the time.

The man scowled, and gestured to a display of a Tigress, which was on all fours in a crouch, as if ready to pounce, snarling at them. "Does THAT look like a human? How about that?" He pointed to a Lamia, which was coiled and hissing at them. "What about those?" He pointed to a trio of birds: Fireburst, Thundercunt, Frosttits.

Something was building in Mortis, but he didn't know what, and he looked at the other displays: the very near human ones.

The man sniffed. "If you're thinking that those bitches are one of us, don't even try." An elf was shown with her nocking an arrow, the way her limbs were arranged exaggerating the unnatural grace of her kind. Next to her, a Barriermaiden just stood there and stared unblinkingly at him, reminding him of the fact that they didn't need to sleep.

"So they're not...human. None of them are. Not even those who look like one?"

He laughed. "Took you long enough."

_Something _snapped, and somehow, he knew something fundamental about him had changed, and slowly, a sick smile formed on his face. "They're not human..." He whispered. He chuckled, and walked out. "Thank you. That REALLY clears everything up." He whispered, and the man blinked, feeling as if he had missed something very important.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mortis' hand twitched, and he struggled to overcome to overwhelming urge to strangle the idiot that kept on screaming at his pokegirl, the one that had just lost him the battle.

He scanned it.

**DROW ZEE, the Elf Variant Pokégirl**

**Type**: Near Human

**Element**: Psychic/Magic

**Frequency**: Uncommon to Rare

**Diet**: Near Human Diet (Omnivore)

**Role**: originally strike squads, but excellent at surveillance, strategic strikes

**Libido**: varies (usually Low to Average)

**Strong Vs**: Psychic, Poison, Fighting

**Weak Vs**: Bug, Dark, Ghost

**Attacks**: Water gun, Ember, Spark, Hypnotic Gaze, Shadow Teleport, Backstab, Shadow Possession, Low to Moderate Magical Spells

**Enhancements**: Infravision, Enhanced Agility (x4), Enhanced Hearing (x3), immunity to poison, Longevity

**Disadvantage**: Highly susceptible to Attraction effect

**Evolves**: Elf (Sun Stone), Dark Elf (Dark Stone), Golden Elf (Angel Stone)

**Evolves From**: None

He looked at her.

Five feet five inches tall, glossy pitch black skin, shining silver hair, b-cup breasts, long pointed ears that extended half a foot past her head, and red eyes.

Completely nude too.

His eyes narrowed, and his hands twitched once more. He breathed deeply, pushing back the urges, and approached the tamer. "Don't like her? Let me take her."

The guy glanced at him. An ordinary face, build slightly muscular, probably from trekking. Nothing special. "You think I'll just give her to you like that? Ha! I'm not that stupid."

"One hundred thousand."

He blinked. "What?"

"One. Hundred. Thousand. SLC. For her." Mortis repeated, and his eyebrows shot up.

"You're joking right?"

"You don't want to trade?" Mortis turned around, and the guy put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. He barely stopped himself from grabbing his arms and breaking in into a dozen pieces.

"Okay! Okay! Let's trade!"

Slowly, the pale man turned back, and he drew out his pokedex, commencing the trade. The boy's eyes widened when he found it genuine, and he passed the pokeball to Mortis, the elf's eyes wide as she stared at her new master. "Does she have a name?"

"Neh, never bothered to name her. Just called her drow."

Mortis looked at her, and her body heated up at his gaze, her eyes locked at her new master's eyes, his _cracked _eyes. He gestured to her, and she rose, her movements containing a strange inhuman grace, _elfin _grace, and was it her, or did he seem to smile at the sign of inhumanity?

She stopped in front of him, her breathing pitched as she stared at Mortis. Awaiting...something.

"Eileen." He muttered, his voice a purring rumble that made the space between her thighs ache. "Tell me, would you like to have Eileen as your name?"

She gulped, and slowly she nodded.

His eyes twinkled in approval. "Then Eileen it shall be." He caressed her forehead, and she shuddered in pleasure. "Don't resist." He muttered, and she didn't as the pokeball's light swallowed her.

Mortis looked into the tamer's unnerved face, a smile forming on his face, one terrifying in how..._wrong _it looked. A man who doesn't know how to smile should never smile, for it is a horrible, horrible thing. "It is official then. She is mine."

Nervously, he nodded, and Mortis eyes narrowed, a murderous glint shining within them. "Then run, before the dams burst and I rip open your chest and tear out your heart." The words were but whispers, but they were full of emotion, full of the emotions of the man that had done such unspeakable things, the entire world had banded together to stop him.

Sukebe would have thought him a rival.

He paled, and ran away as fast as he could. Let it never be said that he was a slow runner when his life was on the line.

Mortis scoffed, turning around. "Humans. They disgust me." He muttered, walking away, the afternoon sky shining orange above him.

**Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**And it's done!**

**Now, I have one thing to ask: How was the lemon? If it's bad, tell me what was wrong. If it was good, tell me the high points so I can focus on them.**

**Oh, and don't forget to review!**


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